Eleanore's hand closed around the Mask of Day, and the world responded.
A surge of golden light burst outward as if the sun itself had descended to earth. The mask was radiant—etched with sunrays spiraling from a flawless mirrored core, its surface shimmering like the surface of a holy lake at dawn. As Eleanore donned it, her form transformed into something transcendent. Her black hair glowed with daylight's warmth, and her skin shone like polished ivory. Wings—glimmering and ethereal—spread from her back, not feathered, but formed from refracted rays of divine energy.
The ghouls below, mindless and ravenous only moments ago, froze. Their bodies trembled as the divine radiance flooded over them. Some even collapsed, purified by the sheer intensity of the light.
Zabro staggered backward, lifting a hand to shield his eyes.
"Wh-What is this divine power!?" he cried out, his voice filled with dread.
Eleanore stepped forward, each motion graceful, each breath resonating with purity.
"Eleanore."
Her voice echoed—not with mere sound, but with truth. Her name was no longer just an identity; it was a declaration.
A vast blue aura surged out from her, wrapping around her body like a protective sphere. It shimmered and pulsed with celestial rhythm, countering the immense suction force of the vast pink magic circle still spinning ominously above.
Zabro's expression twisted into one of panic.
"How did you—? That spell should be impossible to resist!"
Eleanore met his gaze with steely determination.
"I created it," she said, her voice calm and unshakable. "Not with calculation, but with purpose. The desire in my source… shaped it into existence."
She raised her arm. Five magic circles snapped into existence in her palm—each intricate, blazing with runes ancient and unknown.
"Time for your punishment."
With a roar that shook the heavens, a torrent of blue light exploded from her hand. The beam was immense—concentrated divine energy laced with justice, surging through the air like a judgment from the gods themselves. It struck Zabro and the massive violet crystal behind him in a single unified blast.
The explosion blinded the sky.
Zabro's scream was swallowed in the light, his body disintegrated, his will annihilated. The crystal shattered into fragments, then dust, then nothing. The pink circle above flickered once... and vanished.
---
The world shifted.
In a quiet chamber lit by residual arcane glow, Lay stood over Gerad, his sword embedded deep into the traitor's chest. Gerad's staff and shield clattered to the floor, powerless.
"Hero Canon…" Gerad rasped, blood at the corners of his lips. "You're… alive?"
Lay didn't answer. His eyes, usually filled with light and resolve, now brimmed with something colder. Judgement.
---
Below the floating Ice Castle of Delsgade, Misha stood in silence. The moonlight bathed her as the majestic fortress hovered like a dream above. Her azure eyes glowed through the Mask of Frost, the frigid aura surrounding her sharp enough to cut reality itself.
Rinka, once confident, now stumbled backward, fear overtaking her pride.
"So… you were born from a god after all," she whispered, her voice cracking.
"Ice Crystals," Misha murmured.
With that, the temperature plummeted. In a breath, Rinka was engulfed in a pillar of ice—trapped mid-motion. The ice pulsed, compacting tighter, smaller—until only a snowflake remained, spinning gently in the wind.
---
Back to Gerad and Lay.
The sword slid from Gerad's chest with a chilling scrape. He collapsed, crumpling like a discarded puppet.
"I'll ask you one more time," Lay said, his voice low and laced with deadly precision. "Where did you find the other half of the sword?"
Gerad chuckled bitterly, even as blood trickled from his lips.
"I cannot answer that."
Then, before Lay could act, Gerad stabbed himself in the neck with a black dagger, etched with forbidden runes. His body convulsed, glowing violently. Then, in a flash of blue light, he vanished—source and all.
Misa appeared at Lay's side, eyes wide.
"Did his source… get destroyed?"
Lay shook his head.
"No. He's been reincarnated. Someone prepared that escape for him. This isn't over."
---
Elsewhere, Eleanore and Zeshia stood under the now-clear sky, the oppressive pink magic circle finally gone.
"The barriers… are gone…" Zeshia whispered in her soft, child-like voice, awe glimmering in her eyes.
Eleanore raised her hands, golden light rippling from her fingertips.
"All right. Theo Ingal."
A massive resurrection spell unfolded—a wave of warm, emerald-blue light washing across the estate. The once-fallen ghouls stirred. Color returned to their skin, breath to their lungs. Former husks became people once again.
From the rubble, a voice croaked in disbelief.
"No way… No way…!"
Zabro, charred and broken but not yet dead, clawed himself upright.
"The Blaze Death King's power… defeated by human magic!?"
Eleanore approached, still in her radiant form, the Mask of Day glimmering atop her face.
"The Blaze Death King may have been incredible…" she began.
At her chest, Anos' magic circle flared into view—its symbols shining with deep crimson.
"…but I am the Demon King's magic!"
She thrust her hand forward, and with one final incantation, obliterated Zabro in a pulse of white fire.
---
Beneath the ice castle, now crumbling into blue particles, Misha knelt beside Sasha, carefully removing the embedded magic shards from her sister's stomach. Blood flowed, but the Phoenix Robe responded instantly, flaring to life and mending the torn flesh with divine flame.
"Sasha…"
Sasha stirred, eyes fluttering open.
"Misha…? You're here?"
"I was in time," Misha replied, smiling through her tears.
The Mask of Frost cracked—then shattered, dissolving into delicate snowflakes. The toll of power was too great. Misha collapsed.
"Misha!" Sasha caught her, holding her tightly as the remains of the ice castle vanished into the night air.
---
In the secret chamber of the castle, Anos stood between Melheis and a stunned Zeik.
Zeik's eyes were wide.
"How…? You should be dead!"
Melheis calmly walked to Anos' side, untouched, very much alive.
"You annihilated a fake I swapped in beforehand," Anos explained, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.
Zeik clenched his fists.
"Impossible! That source was genuine! I saw it destroyed!"
"It was real," Anos admitted. "But it was also… manufactured."
Zeik's face twisted.
"You created a pseudo-source!? That should be impossible—even for you!"
"Then maybe you should've done more research," Anos said, his eyes glinting.
Zeik staggered back. "When did you…?"
He remembered the moment. Anos had snapped his fingers. The memory hit like a hammer. The frozen corpse of Melheis—untouched, suspended by time.
"You've lost," Anos said simply.
"No—" Zeik stammered.
"You lost the moment you agreed to this battle of wits. No… the moment you thought you could match me."
Behind him, Melheis stood silently. Two shadows—one born of overwhelming might, the other of calculated loyalty—now loomed over Zeik like judgment incarnate.
And thus, the tides turned.